Normal
by juniper.a.e
Summary: Sitting in a motel room, practically watching wounds heal, is quite a normal scene for the Winchester brothers. Slight Hurt!Dean Hurt!Sam, little bit of brotherly fluff, but no Wincest.


"Normal"

Dean awoke with the sun, which was, surprisingly, having a tougher time getting up than he was. The same dreary, drizzling rain that had driven two shivering Winchesters into their motel room last night was still present, blotting out the sky and making the sun work harder to force beams of light through the curtains.

But the rain hadn't been the only thing sending the Winchesters in for some recharge time. The eldest Winchester was reminded of that fact as he rubbed his eyes and sat up, letting out a grunt as his aching muscles protested all movement.

For a moment, he ignored the pain and looked over at his little brother's sleeping form. Sam hadn't yet stirred, and Dean wondered why he himself had woken up so suddenly in the first place. With the realization that his injuries and aching bones were most likely to blame, he decided that he knew one other thing for sure:

"I need a beer," he grunted.

The sounds of Dean rummaging through the miniature fridge startled Sam awake, and he shot upright with a gasp, clutching his side. His head throbbed, but that was the least of his worries.

Dean sent his brother a smirk, that kind which proclaimed that everything was fine when it was most certainly not.

"Calm yourself, Sammy," Dean teased. "I know I'm pretty handsome, but come on."

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's attempt at avoiding the obvious.

Dean glanced down at his beer. "I'm alive, aren't I?" Both of them knew that was never a satisfying reply.

The night before had been, to put it lightly, like Hell. And the Winchesters knew Hell when they hunted it. They'd sent a batch of vamps running for the hills, but not before gaining enough injuries that they too had to abandon the fight. Sam and Dean both silently dreaded what Round 2 would bring.

When they had made their way back to the motel, they were too exhausted after several days of little sleep and a lot of hunting, and barely had a chance to tend to the worst of their wounds before crashing in their beds.

Dean was hugging his arm around his waist, mainly to keep from hurting his shoulder. Sam noticed. "Did you dislocate it?" He asked, standing up slowly.

"Maybe. Doesn't really feel like it," That was a big fat lie, and Dean simply contemplated how he didn't feel this pain last night before he passed out on his bed.

The eldest Winchester paid more attention to Sam's wounds than he did his own. His brother had a cut on his forehead that had been partially covered by dried blood. He moved like his ribs were hurting, but other than that he seemed to have escaped excessive injuries.

Dean nodded toward his brother. "You've got to clean that cut." He advised.

Sam sighed. "I will. _After_ I make sure your shoulder is okay."

"Its fine, Sam." Dean insisted, but Sam knew better than to trust his brother's word with things like this.

Dean took another swig of his beer as Sam hovered and inspected his shoulder. With an apologetic glance, the youngest Winchester conveyed the news without a single word. Dean grunted and nodded, bracing himself with his good arm on the edge of his bed.

"Fix it." Dean said, taking a deep breath as Sam put his hands on Dean's shoulder.

"You ready?"

"Yeah,"

"1… 2…" _Crack._

Dean let out a strangled groan as Sam popped his shoulder back into its socket, his arm curling away from his brother's touch. The younger Winchester watched Dean with an understanding of the pain, looking like he felt horrible for causing his brother that pain.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled.

"I'm good," Dean replied. "It's good." He took another swig of his beer.

Sam went to the fridge and grabbed a drink for himself. "Alright, what else?" He demanded, turning back to his brother.

Dean had laid back down, and his eyes were closed. He still cradled his arm by his chest, letting the pain subside before he moved it much. "Hmm?"

"What other injuries?" Sam clarified.

His brother shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "Eh, a few jacked up ribs. I'll be fine." Dean stood up and walked over to his duffel bag, pulling out the small first aid kit. "But you need some stitches, brother."

Dean sat his brother down and got to work on stitching the cut on his forehead. Silence filled the room for a time, save for the rain drizzling down outside. Dean tried to be precise and gentle with his work, and Sam tried not to wince when he failed at times.

"You know, we really should have done this last night." Dean mumbled as he put away the remaining supplies.

"If you had done this last night, my face would never be the same," Sam said with a smirk, and his brother shot him a glare. Sam noticed that, as Dean delivered the first aid kit back to his bag and then returned to his bed, his brother limped slightly. "Why are you limping?" He asked.

Dean shrugged again. "I'm fine,"

"Dean." Sam replied lowly.

The eldest Winchester sighed. "My knee. It hurts a little. It's nothing, Sammy."

Sam sighed in frustration. "You could just say something, you know. It won't ruin your image." The words would have been harsh if not for the slightly teasing lilt in his voice.

"It'll ruin my ego, though." Dean commented.

Sam tossed his brother an ice pack from the fridge, which Dean caught with one hand and balanced precariously on his knee as he made himself comfortable once again on his bed. He glanced over as Sam sat down at the small table across the room with his beer, and realized a familiar scene when he saw it.

For the Winchesters, this was a reoccurring image. Brothers sprawled out on beds or sitting in uncomfortable chairs, practically watching wounds heal.

For the Winchesters, this was normal.

-fin-


End file.
